


Cinnamon and Sugar

by tatooedlaura



Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 18:17:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15418791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatooedlaura/pseuds/tatooedlaura
Summary: drunken apologies and bare feet





	Cinnamon and Sugar

He really didn’t want to answer the door. He knew it’d be her. He knew she’d be smiling that forced smile. He knew she’d be lying through her damn teeth and he definitely knew that if he saw her, he’d do things he could very well possibly regret later.

He found his stocking feet shuffling towards the door, kicking through discarded suit jacket and dress pants wrinkled even beyond the 92-year old woman who dry-cleaned aforementioned jacket and pants every two weeks. Wondering if he might pick things up before she crossed the threshold, attempt to make him look less the slob than he truly was, he shrugged a ‘fuck it’ and called through the door, “I gave at the office.”

“I was at the office and all you gave was half-a-shit and a grimace.”

Unlocking first lock, “you swore in my hallway.”

“I’ll swear again if you’d like.”

Unlocking second lock, “F word or something much more foul mouthed that would make a sailor blush?”

“I don’t want to scar anyone who might hear me.”

Twisting thumb lock on door handle, he opened it enough to see half her nose, one eyeball and a quarter of her mouth, “will you whisper it to me?”

Leaning in, she wedged her face as close as possible, her low voice destroying him faster than ever imagined, “I’m not wearing any shoes and I have a bottle of Tequila, you shit-ball, fuck sucker.”

‘Cause you just can’t fight that, regardless of ironclad willpower. Standing back, he let her in, noting both the bare feet and the liquor in one quick perusal, “your mother would be equal amounts horrified and proud of that one.”

“I know.”

Standing there, she cracked her toes without thought, then neck before, “I know we probably shouldn’t be anywhere near each other right now but I call truce so we can drown the last three weeks and seven hours into God-damned oblivion.”

Already holding out his hand towards the bottle, “Give.”

&&&&&&&&&&

Keeping his shit under control was second-nature by now, his ability to let any amount of nonsense roll off his back with a fake smile and a sigh but three weeks was too damn much, even for him. She had been on him about every little fucking thing, grammar, paperwork, procedure, argumentative as hell and stubborn as a mule.

He used to like mules because they were also called burros and asses.

Mules were not to his liking anymore.

But to snap back to present day for a moment, she stood there, now in his kitchen, looking over the rim of a tumbler, amber liquid slipping down her throat, contracting, jumping, swallowing, long, smooth, contour, curve, concave …

Stop looking at her neck, she’s pissed you off for three weeks … get a grip, asshole.

He didn’t know if she’d been feeling sick, feeling crampy, feeling tired, feeling fed up but whatever set it off, landed a mountain of irritation on him the likes of which he’d never known.

And today, they’d come home from the middle of San Antonio, which should have been a wee bit more fun than it actually was and she’d chewed his ass out in the car as they drove directly to work to wrap up the case, finish notes, settle back to the familiarity that was their basement hideaway. She’d dredged up every damn thing he’d done wrong, however minute, and rehashed over and over until he’d finally slammed his hands on the desk, told her to ‘shut the hell up’ and chugged a cup of nasty cold coffee that made him cough until he was bright red in the face.

They spent the last five hours at work in dead, heavy silence.

And then he’d left without a word.

&&&&&&&&&&&

Now he drank, eyeing her with wary care. He loved her. They both knew that. It was possibly the only thing that kept her alive those three weeks and honestly, she wondered if she’d used that knowledge to pick on him more. He’d been a reliable target and once she’d gotten back to her apartment, she knew she’d been about as fucking nightmarish as she possible could and needed to remedy that the only way she could at the moment.

Bare feet and booze.

The booze was the universal equalizer of anger in their world. Tequila started smooth, moved to relaxation and finished with calm.

The bare feet were because she knew he liked her ankles, her painted nails, that crooked pinkie toe which amused him as he played with it absently once her feet were settled on his lap, case files and Chinese food intermingled across their laps and spilling occasionally onto the floor.

It was the first silent concession of a night of unspoken apology and eventual explanation for her treatment of him.

Finishing her glass only moments before, she reached for the bottle, “one more then some cards?”

Having forgiven her for anything unpleasant as soon as he saw her offerings, he didn’t move too fast, “sure. Go Fish or Rummy?”

“Go Fish is only fun after the third glass and two slices of pizza.”

“I should probably call someone about that, huh?”

Careful not to splash, she filled again, “use my card.”

“Bread?”

“And a salad. Trick myself into thinking something healthy happened here tonight.”

As he leaned past her, reaching for the phone, he brushed his fingers over hers as he pressed his cheek to her temple for the shortest of spans, “Tequila is made of plants. We’ll be fine.”

Her knuckles wrapped his shirt, keeping him close for longer than getting a phone really ought to take, “I hope so.”

&&&&&&&&

Bottle half gone, pizza carcass strewn and stacked in various spots of the living room, she tentatively shifted on the cushions, swinging feet up on his thighs, resting head back on the arm of the couch, “we should drink more.”

“You mean right now or is this a future reference kind of thing?”

Eyes half-an-inch out of focus, she aimed her words in his direction, “both, I think.”

“You are going to have the king of hangovers if we have anymore.”

His thumbs on her arch made her sink down another inch, wiggling butt to find optimal heaven spot, the contented hum in her throat made them both smile, “not if we have a water interlude and eat our cinnamon bun stick thingies first.”

“You are a terrible, terrible person.”

A frown curled her lips down, a place he hated to see them go, preferring her smile over everything else in the world but he let her talk, knowing an explanation for the past weeks wasn’t far off, Tequila and carbs calming the chaos in her soul, “I don’t mean to be.”

Biting the bullet because her feet were pliable and her skin warm and the muscles of her calves were calling to his kneading fingers, “will you tell me what happened?”

He felt the smallest muscles tighten under his hands and he clasped down, not letting her run away, knowing here and now needed to happen instead of later maybe never down the road, “Mulder.”

“I’m not letting go so spill.”

Splaying toes, giving up the ghost before the haunt began, she focused her vibrating eyes on his hands, firmly settled above her ankles now, long fingers cradling calves, thumbs on shins with an unspoken request of higher as the night progressed, “it’s stupid and I’m stupid and can we just say it’s over?”

“You threw my toothpaste at me.”

“I made sure the cap was on.”

Unapologetic movement of hands to just below knees, “what did that guy say to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Then what did the other guy say to you?”

“Noone said anything.”

“Then what didn’t they say?”

She was transparent as damned plastic wrap, “they didn’t see me. They saw you and then me as your partner. It irritated me, especially when Simmons walked in.”

“People are assholes. Why Simmons?”

“Tequila, Mulder, lots of it.”

“Why Simmons?”

“Because he taught me how to fight in the seventh grade.”

His hands stilled, “what?”

“He was a cop in San Diego who taught the seventh-grade girls self-defense and would occasionally, on accident, grab things he shouldn’t.” Squishing her face up, she wondered if she could summon the Tequila with her mind, “he copped his own feels on me but before I worked up the courage to tell anyone, some other girl did. He was quietly dismissed from the force and popped up as Chief in San Antonio. He had no idea who I was and it just …” Holding her hand towards the bottle on the table, willing it and feeling actual disappointment when it didn’t move, “it pissed me the hell off. I couldn’t say anything to him, he didn’t remember me and you got caught in the middle. I now have to give him a commendation for service when I just want to pin the damn medal to his face.”

At the mention of inappropriate behavior, Mulder removed his hands, pulling back suddenly, hot hands leaving warm muscles to cool in an instant, “I would have killed him for you.”

“Which is why I didn’t tell you and was a pain in the ass the whole time.” Her feet felt around for his shirt, gripping material with toes, her voice innocent, “why did you move?”

“Well … I mean …”

And the deep breath she took in could have moved mountains, the open look aimed his way made his heart thump, “I was irritated by that asshole when I was 12, not scared. He was doing something wrong and these past three weeks I’ve had to shut up when all I wanted to do was fucking call him a child molester and shoot him between the eyes.” Tequila sloshed to the forefront of her mind for a moment and quashed her sensors for what would be the first time of many the next few hours, “You know how hard that is to keep to myself when all it takes is one hand around my ankle and that damn thumb of yours to run over my knee to want to tell you every little thing I’ve ever thought or done in my lifetime?”

Hands back, fingers behind knees, magical thumb now running over smooth kneecap, he scooted forward, tugging her towards him until he could easily reach upper thigh but refrain, “you should have told me. I’d have schooled him on the reasons no one gets to touch my Scully but me.”

The position was far too tempting to both of them given liquor level confessions and she shifted away again, his palms burned to and through her thigh bones, “I remember something about a water interlude. Do you remember where we keep the sink?”

Cheeks flame-warm by now, he remembered, through clouded brain, that Tequila walked a thin line between love and hate, warmth and cold, Scully and Mulder.

The thinnest damn line they’d ever walked thus far.

“I think the sink is in the kitchen.”

“Help me get a drink?”

He’d have dug out his own kidney for her if she’d asked, “sure. Come on. Let’s see if we can both stay upright all the way there.”

“Fat chance on that one.”

He stumbled sideways at the elevation change after he stood, “agreed.”

&&&&&&&7

Water went down easily, stomachs stayed settled, eyeballs focused, tracked Mulder as he poured more Tequila, “we forgot the stick things with the sugary stuff on them with the … with the …” fingers making dipping motions and Mulder perfectly willing to eat what she was scooping, imaginary as it was, “the white, icing whatever.” And then she raised and lowered her hand a few more times, just to watch his head bob, tongue licking his lips. Having his full attention, she dipped her fingers instead into the liquor, sliding digits between his teeth, his tongue rough against her calloused knuckles, “who needs a cup, right?”

Sucking harder, he let her go with a pop that made him ache and made her eyes dilate further than they already were, black swallowing blue to a thin ring, “best thing I ever tasted.”

Lack of oxygen from lack of breath had her swaying a second later and being the good Mulder he was, he invaded her space, lifted quick and deposited her next to the uneaten dessert, both eye level in uncharted waters. Keeping gaze locked, he wandered his hand until he found the food, separating a stick with clumsy fingers then getting it to her mouth without incident, nudging her until she opened, bit down, dropped cinnamon sugar everywhere.

Her smile was back, “We should eat dessert first next time.”

“But that’ll just confuse us. What if we forget to drink the Tequila or something?”

She moved her hands to his shoulders, “you know what else I’ve forgotten?”

Enamored with the cinnamon sprinkled across her chin, he could only hold one focus at a time so he only half heard her but managed a, “what?”

“I’ve forgotten how not to kiss you.”

Cinnamon temporarily forgotten, his glance made it to her eyes before bouncing down to her mouth, “I think I missed some words.”

“I said I’ve forgotten how not to kiss you.”

Holding himself and his soul in check, “is this an ‘oh, brother’ moment? Are you drunk enough not to remember this in two minutes?”

“I was stone cold sober when I said it but I think I’m back to drunk now.”

“I think if you were sober when you said it, it should stand.”

She leaned forward enough to convince Mulder he wouldn’t die if he tasted the sugar on her skin and as he nibbled at it, he felt her cheeks turn up, skin tighten into a smile he would now always associate with cinnamon. He opened his mouth, then kissed her chin, pulling away with a suctioned pop to make sure he didn’t miss any of the grainy sweetness.

She giggled outright at this point, head dropping forward and smacking his nose hard enough he had to step back, grimacing as he checked for blood and his eyes started to water, “has your head always been that hard!?”

Scully, in the meantime, palmed her forehead where she hit him, still grinning but with a sympathetic air as she slid off the counter, “come here, let me check it.”

Feet making contact with the ground, her knees and gravity disagreed on several laws of physics and she slithered to the ground, suddenly and inexplicably puddled at Mulder’s feet.

He looked down at her, she looked up at him, both surprised, pain dissipating, “why are you on the floor?”

“I think I forgot how science works. Can we go to bed? I’m dizzy.”

Pretty sure he could survive for days on that question, he took her carefully under the arms, ignoring throbbing nose as he picked her up, set her back on her feet, keeping firm hold so she didn’t drop again, “can you make it to the bedroom or do you want to sleep on the couch?”

“In bed … with you.”

God, they really needed a chaperone when they drank.

&&&&&&&&&

Mere moments, hours, seconds later, she had wrestled herself into a pair of sweats and managed to wiggle on a tshirt, backwards but who gave a flying fig, before crashing to the pillow, fingers and hands looking for him, “are you coming?”

Loaded question for the drunk as shit Mulder, who had taken a necessary double swig from the bottle as he left the kitchen with her. Forever the gentleman, however, he responded in kind, “one second. Gotta find drugs and water.”

“Share?”

“Share.”

Ibuprofen in, water down, pair settled, lights out, room dark, “I remembered how I don’t kiss you.”

Floating in a waking dream, “how?”

Eyes glued to his mouth, “I don’t look at your mouth.”

“But you’re doing that now.”

Shifting closer, nose to nose, which was thankfully not sore anymore, she shut her eyes, “don’t need to look anymore.”

“Too close to see?”

“Close enough to touch.”

And they were together, two sets together, warm, sugary, liquor-y, pizza-y perfection … for about 8 seconds, then she shifted, bolted, skidded to a halt, crashed to the ground on her knees, linoleum meeting bone at cracking speeds, the puked her inebriated little stomach out.

Mulder followed a few moments later, not able to do much but hear the sounds, then take place beside her, politely waiting until she was done before nudging her head to one side and throwing up between her arms, which were both gripping the toilet seat to keep her from sliding in a heap to the bathmat.

They were a hell of a pair.

“You all right?”

Scully would have nodded had she the strength, but she mumbled enough of a ‘yeah, you?’ so he could groan his affirmative back then, “Bed?”

“I love when you say that word.”

They pushed each other back to the mattress, Scully not able to climb the three story slippery comforter but Mulder helped with hands firmly on her ass to give her a boost. Mulder scaled it in his own grunting way and flopped beside her, “g’night, Scully.”

“I love you, Mulder.”

&&&&&&&&&

Late next morning or, really, early afternoon by working man standard’s and the sun in general, Mulder rolled over, expecting to find an empty bed and a note saying ‘see ya’ but instead found Scully staring at him, looking perfectly at home settled on his blue plaid pillowcase, hair askew, eyes alert …

And staring at his mouth again.

“Forgetting how to not kiss me again?”

“Trying to figure out if once I start, will I ever be able to stop.”

“We should brush our teeth before we get down to figuring that out.”

With a smile to banish darkness forever, she nodded, “got a spare toothbrush for me?”

“It’s had your name on it for years.”


End file.
